


The Nightmare(Shopping) Before Christmas

by OceanAndSpace



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: I didn't reference the Princess Bride, M/M, Not Beta Read, for once, so much sass
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-08
Updated: 2015-10-08
Packaged: 2018-04-25 12:02:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,245
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4959847
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OceanAndSpace/pseuds/OceanAndSpace
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which it's one of the wolves who needs a spare jacket, for once, not Stiles.<br/>(<i>can be read as flirty gen or pre-slash</i>)</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Nightmare(Shopping) Before Christmas

"Actually, what was that?" Stiles asks, still staring at the mess on the floor. By now, it doesn't look like much anymore. To be honest, it already didn't look like much, before it got slashed to hell and back.

"I'm... unsure." Peter frowns, pushing the thing with the tip of his boot. Viscous, already dark brown blood slicks the leather and Peter makes a face.

Stiles would have laughed, if he hadn't been too busy trying to make head or tails of what he's looking at.

"It looks a bit like... one of those grindylow thing from the Harry Potter movies?"

Stiles bites back a comment. He might be on friendly terms with Lydia these days, but he knows better than to laugh at her.

"That's... disturbingly accurate." Peter turns away and grabs a nearby rag to try and scrape the worst of the goop off his shoes.

"Dude, stop getting prissy over your shoes, there are things more important to worry about. Like, that thing that you originally called a top."

"And what do you want me to do, take it off and run around half naked in the middle of the town?"

Because of course, only a werewolf would go out in the middle of December wearing a V neck sweater that's more like a thicker-than-usual-t-shirt. And then, to get so much blood over it, that there's no hope of passing it away as a fashion statement. Which had to happen in the middle of Beacon Hills' shopping streets, the week before Christmas, when everybody's hurrying all over, trying to get the last gifts they forgot about.

Which is not at all what happened to Stiles. It's just, when it's not one thing it's another, with the pack and stupid enemies, and Stiles didn't even have the time to get something for his father, in the end. He might have mentioned it -bemoaned the fact- during the last pack meeting. Of course, since he mentioned shopping, Lydia invited herself -and it still boggles his mind. Him, having a friendly day out with Lydia Martin. Oh my god-. And then Peter said he'd go with them, because with Stiles' luck, they'd attract something hostile. But it's totally not Stiles' fault that they got attacked, no matter what Isaac-"I'm-trying-to-out-douche-Jackson"-Lahey might like to mutter.

"Why aren't you wearing a coat anyway? You're getting us noticed," Lydia grumbles. Except she doesn't, because Lydia Martin would never do something so crass as grumble.

"They notice me because I'm hot."

"Oh my god, Peter, you already ruined a shirt, try not to get too big for your britches too? They're looking at us because you're wearing a shirt I wouldn't even wear in the middle of summer!"

"You wouldn't wear it, Mr-layers-R-US, because you think the height of fashion is a plaid shirt over another plaid shirt."

"Not that I disagree with Peter. Actually, he's right."

Stiles stares at Lydia, a cute pout twisting his mouth. Not that the others notice. At all.

"But this isn't helping," she continues, willfully ignoring Stiles' way too pretty mouth. "There's only so long that three persons can stand in a side alley without attracting undue attention, even if most people are too busy panicking over their lack of gifts to watch where they're going, never mind checking out useless alleys. And since our attacker conveniently decided to melt, Witch of the West style, I'd like for us to get a move on."

"Melt?"

Stiles and Peter look down as one, and yes, the thing from another world is nothing more than a smear on the pavement now, looking disgustingly like a remnant from an over-boozed evening.

"Well, I'll be damned."

"You're _already_ damned, zombiewolf."

"Really? But I've been told many times that I have the body of an angel, though."

"Oh Jesus, that was sooo bad. Do you really use those words on girls."

"Well, the last time, it was on a man, but he didn't seem to disagree, when he got up close and personal with my crotch."

"OH MY GOD, my ears, I CANNOT UNSEE."

"You definitively can't _unsee_ something that was _told_ to you, Stiles, obviously. Dear lord, the state of education, these days. Also, you shouldn't be so prude, my precious, I'm sure you'd agree with my temporary partner."

"What, when you couldn't even get him to do the deed again?"

"Oh, I assure you that he'd have been only too eager to get down on his knees again. Unfortunately, his skills weren't on par with his boasting. But with your own oral obsession, I'm sure you'd be very good at it."

"Of course I'd be good, I'd be brilliant even, the best and... oh my god." Stiles folds down on himself the next second, hiding his face in his knees. "I can't believe I said that, why didn't you stop me from saying that, Lydia!" he wails pathetically.

"And cut off the entertainment? I think not. But if you're done flirting with the resident zombie, maybe we could get a move on now?"

It's impressive how Derek can make questions out of sentences without a single inflection, and on the contrary, you've got Lydia who uses all the right intonations for questions, negations and such, but always ends up giving an order.

"Flirting? Who's flirting, nobody's flirting, there hasn't been any flirting flirt of the flirty possibility."

"Of course not, Stiles," she agrees.

Nobody should be able to sound so condescending, Stiles thinks. He might be pouting again.

"Oh my god, what are you doing?" Yes, he's been exclaiming a lot. He can be excused, though, there's a werewolf playing Chippendale behind him, that's not something he was expecting. "I thought you were supposed to be loaded, do we really need to sell your body for a shirt?"

Stiles' not sure he's ever seen a so unimpressed look. He's impressed.

"Give me your jacket."

"WHAT."

That was _not_ a squawk.

"Your jacket, Scrappy Doo, give it to me. As you noticed, it would be a bit suspicious if I were to show off my perfect, naked body."

"Scrappy?! If anything, I'm..."

"Enough!" Lydia isn't very strong, but Stiles still rocks forward when she slaps the back of his head. "I have things to do. We're leaving. Now. Stilinski, take off your jacket."

"But I'm going to be cold! It's December." And his jacket would smell like Peter! Stiles' not ready to own a jacket smelling like Peter. He can only wank so many times before chaffing becomes a thing.

"Peter will keep you warm. Let's go."

She's out of the alley and already looking at storefronts while Stiles' still gawking at her, trying to come up with a retort.

"I can't believe she said that."

"Don't worry, she's right, I'll make sure you stay warm and cozy. Wouldn't want you sniveling and sneezing during pack meetings."

"I do not snivel!" Stiles runs after Peter, trying to ignore the way his jacket is too short and shows off Peter's perfect ass.

"Of course not. Come here, they sell spiced hot chocolate. I'll even buy you one, since it's Christmas," Peter drawls, sliding an arm over Stiles' shoulders.

He'd protest, but Peter can't zip up a jacket anymore than he'll wear sweaters showing less chest, so of course there's a lot of said chest under Stiles' nose. He can't be held responsible for his lack of repartee.

And also, it is December and damn, but it's cold.

 

 


End file.
